


Now or Never

by raccoonlol



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Bingst, Blow Jobs, Gayngst, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn With the Hint of Plot Three Rooms Over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28676952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raccoonlol/pseuds/raccoonlol
Summary: Dean crashes a college party with the intent of getting laid. There, he meets Cas, a college student who's developed a hobby of standing on the edges and observing everything going on. Why is Cas the one he wants to spend the most time with, and what happens when he invites Cas back to his motel room?
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Now or Never

“Alright, I get it,” Dean said, arms raised up in a gesture of deference. “But it’s your loss,” he said with a wink and a grin as he made his way back to the table of drinks. The buxom blonde beauty he had set his sights on, and completely and entirely blew his chances with, shot him a smirk that rested somewhere between humor and loathing as she returned to the party.

Dean gave himself another pour of whiskey into his red solo cup, and his face contorted into a grimace when he shot the entire thing down in one gulp. The pleasant burn engulfed his throat, shooting fire through his veins, and for a moment he forgot that every single girl he talked to tonight had said ‘no.’ _Give it time,_ he thought. _The party’s just getting started._

And start it did. The music thumped throughout the house, each powerful blast of bass rattled his bones, and the heat of so many bodies packed in together blanketed him in a wall of noise and warmth. Sammy had been lost to the crowd some time ago; Dean wasn’t sure that he’d see him again before the night was over, but that wasn’t too much of a concern. The night was young, and he was determined to end it with a girl on his arm.

Another shot of whiskey, another grimacing gulp. Time to build up the courage, time to bring out the charm. He slammed his cup down onto the table, chest puffed out, the god damn king of the mountain, and peered out into the crowd.

Someone stared back.

Dean furrowed his brows. Some guy leaning against the wall – was he wearing a fucking _tie_? – positively eye fucked him for just a second before he turned away. Okay, weird. But it was no matter, because he had a new target, and she had fiery red hair.

~

Or maybe not.

Dean returned to the drinks table and downed another shot. Already he felt the looseness in his veins, the pleasant disconnect between brain and body, and knew that success lay right around the corner.

If this guy would stop staring at him.

He caught him once more as he finished talking to that girl, caught him staring, nearly boring a hole in his skull, and couldn’t decide if he should be flattered or pissed off. But, right now, with two – or was it three – missed attempts in a row, the needle pointed firmly in the ‘pissed off’ direction. But he wouldn’t let it get to him; this guy was probably just some jealous nerd who couldn’t believe what a _real_ man could do. Probably just jealous that Dean was at the party wearing something other than a fucking tie -- the hell was up with that? Wasn’t he hot, standing there against the wall dressed like some Mormon business reject?

Okay, no, this party was not going to be spent staring at some dweeb, tie and all. This party would be spent with that girl, right there, brunette, short skirt, just waiting for the right dance partner, and,

~

That one hurt. The pure stank on her face as he approached nearly pushed the soul right out of his body, and even another shot of whiskey failed to dull the sting.

So, it was especially irritating when this dude stuck his eyes to Dean yet again.

Enough was enough. Dean’s fingertips dug into his plastic cup as he walked over and set himself right next to the guy, ready to tell him off, ready to escalate, but still maintained just enough distance between them for plausible deniability. He opened his mouth to speak, to fire off some quip that would either get this dude off his back or fire him up enough to get _some_ kind of relief even if it came in the form of a fight, but before the words left his mouth the other guy said something.

Whatever he said was gruff and quiet and completely overpowered by the pounding music.

“What?” Dean asked, bravado already waning, rug snatched out from underneath him completely.

“That was the fourth one,” the other guy said. His eyes were locked straight ahead of him, his face expressionless.

There was that rug. Fire rose up in his chest once more. “I – Well, I, what – fuck you,” he said, sputtering more than speaking, rage and alcohol combining together into momentary incoherence.

The slightest hint of a smile appeared at the corner of the guy’s lips. “Tough luck,” he said. Something in his otherwise stony expression betrayed a sort of gentleness. “I really thought you had that one with the red hair.”

What the fuck?

Dean’s head shot back with a quick shake. His eyebrows furrowed nearly into his eyes, and for a moment the only thing he could do was blink in time to the pounding beats. That fire of rage already quieted within him, the rug gone once more.

“I –” he started. “I, uh,” he continued, chest deflating with every additional word. (Or grunt.) “Thank you. I think. Wait, are you watching me?”

“I’m watching everyone,” the other guy said, as if it was normal behavior. “Not much else to do.” His blue eyes bore into him.

“Oh. Well,” he pressed his back against the wall, “That’s kind of weird.”

The guy shrugged his shoulders.

That must have been his response, because silence filled the space between them for a few moments more. As much silence as there could be, given the intense noise level.

What a weirdo. But, a weirdo that, somehow, was the first person to give him the most genuine attention out of anyone else he had spoken to tonight. The first person all night who didn’t immediately reject him, laugh him off, or end the conversation as soon as possible, eyes darting this way and that as if literally searching for an escape from the conversation with him. This guy may be a statue on the outskirts of the party, but at least the statue remained in one place when they spoke. The statue didn’t run; the statue actually looked at him. And Dean was just drunk enough to entertain the ramblings, and attention, of weirdos.

Dean swallowed. His mouth felt dry. “What else have you seen?”

“Black-haired guy over there has struck out even more than you.” It was said so matter-of-factly that Dean couldn’t even bother to be offended by the reiteration of his failure. “The women here seem to be disgusted by him. Probably with good reason, given the way he stares at them when their backs are turned.”

“Big words coming from someone who’s spent the entire night staring at people,” Dean said.

Those blue eyes turned back onto him. Was that a smile? His face was so hard to read. Dean swallowed a lump in his throat.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” He asked, shifting his weight to one foot, angling his body just the tiniest bit closer to the mystery man.

“Yes,” was apparently all he felt like saying.

Dean stared right back. He stared for as long as he could stand those eyes, but when it became overwhelming he had to turn his gaze back to the mass of people dancing and grinding to the music.

“Explain, please,” he said. This certainly wasn’t the conversation he imagined himself having when he arrived at the party. The picture he formed, the battle plan he created, before arriving involved much less speaking, and much more…

His eyes locked onto a girl, rubbing up against, grinding on, dancing, swaying, hands moving everywhere, nearly fucking the guy she was with…

Much more of _that_.

He felt the stare of the mystery man on the side of his face for a few moments more, but finally the pressure eased when he turned back to the same writhing group of people that Dean’s focus was on. Good thing, too, because those eyes drilling into him at the same moment that something stirred in his jeans felt a little off-putting.

“I’m just observing,” the other guy said. “There’s nothing intrusive or lecherous about it.”

Dean, staring lecherously, managed to tear his eyes away from the woman with some degree of difficulty. “Easy for you to say when you’re not the one with those blue eyes fuckin’… penetrating you.” The word ‘penetrating’ brought a smirk to his expression, and, to his surprise, the mystery man, stony face and all, returned the smallest hint of a grin. Or something close to it, at least.

“Sorry,” he said.

Dean had to make a decision: was he going to spend the night talking with this guy, tie and all, instead of getting laid? Or was he going to get back out there, find a girl, take her back to the motel, and spend the night lost between the sheets? And yet, something about this man’s presence wasn’t entirely horrible. Somehow calming, in fact. A stony island in the middle of the noise.

The party raged on, and Dean downed another two shots while paralyzed with indecision. The ache in his groin told him to get a move on, to throw himself back into the party and not stop until he found someone to sink himself in to, but this damn living statue at his side kept him in place. It was probably just some form of charitable guilt, Dean decided; he probably just felt bad for leaving someone who obviously lacked the ability to handle a party by himself. It was like he had suddenly adopted a puppy with no social skills and needed to be there to ensure he didn’t hurt himself. A third shot already filled his cup by the time the guy reached over and grabbed his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said.

“Uh,” Dean said by way of response, head tilting to peer at the hand. Even through the layers of his clothing, and the heat of the party, Dean could swear that he felt the warmth.

“Brown hair, red dress, near the wall. She keeps looking over here. You probably have a good chance.”

Sure enough, a girl matching that description glanced over and flashed a smile his way.

“Oh shit,” he said, perking up. “Fuck,” he said, feeling the panic seep in, and then a sudden burst of confidence because he was Dean fucking Winchester and this night was going to go the way he wanted it to. All thanks to this weirdo; seemed like the puppy could handle himself. “Thanks, man,” he said, and he flashed a wink as he started toward the girl’s direction.

“Name’s Dean, by the way,” he said.

“Cas.”

~

“You’re back.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yeah.” The sixth (seventh?) shot of the night tasted like nothing and stung even less. Dean’s teeth felt like static. “Not a match.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about, Cas.” Dean splashed yet another glug of whiskey into his cup, though this time he allowed it to rest at the bottom, undisturbed. “I guess it means I get to spend a bit more time on the weirdo wall.”

Cas’s eyebrows raised a bit. “That you do,” he said.

“Tell me more about what you’ve seen tonight,” Dean said as he pressed his back against the wall.

Another bout of staring right at the side of his face. Dean was somehow becoming used to, growing fond of, the way this guy – Cas – apparently communicated solely through latching his eyes onto someone. He broke away and scanned over the crowd.

“Well,” Cas started, “I’ve already counted four people who’ve tapped out from too much alcohol; they all left with that same distant stare. Though none of them had as many drinks as I’ve counted you having.”

Dean raised his cup in a ‘cheers’ gesture. “Chumps.”

Cas exhaled something that may have been a laugh. “A few are gone due to substances other than alcohol. And two – him, right there, and her to his left – are responsible for those substances. They’ve already made a fair amount of money.”

“Yowza,” Dean said. “Stay safe out there, kids.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “Mostly, though, people are pairing off and disappearing somewhere else for a while. A few come back later. Some of those few have gone for multiple rounds.” This was accompanied with an upturn of the corners of his lips that Dean nearly missed.

The mere mention of it brought a bit more warmth to his groin. Fuck, he wasn’t going to have any sort of fun if he just stood here listening to this guy list of the quirks of the party.

“I was hoping to be one of them,” Dean said. A quick jerk of the head suggested that the alcohol had loosened his lips more than expected.

“I know,” Cas said without missing a beat. “There’s still time.”

“Yeah,” Dean said.

A beat of time passed between them. A different meaning sunk into Dean’s mind – still time with who? With Cas? -- and he turned his attention back to Cas, who was staring out at the group, drink in his hand, with a look of contentment on his features. Was that intentional? No, no, no way. No way this weirdo had insinuated something like that. Had he insinuated it at all? Wait, why was Dean even considering this secondary meaning?

Too much alcohol.

Dean took another shot.

“I’m going back in, Cas,” Dean said, and he looked over his shoulder into those blue eyes as he waded back into the party.

~

The party reached its climax and began its downward slope. The herd of party goers thinned, and only the drunkest, sweatiest, dancers remained. Dean made his way back to the weirdo wall, sighed with his entire body, and crushed his shoulder against the wall right next to Cas.

“I was almost there, man,” he said. “I was so close. I almost sealed the deal. We were this close to leaving together, and then…” Dean’s eyes scanned over Cas’s face. The warm, dim lighting of the party softened his defined jawline, smoothed out the harsh edges of his features. There was enough stubble to nearly be called a beard, and Dean swore that it had somehow grown in just the few hours he had known this guy. He was stony, stoic, entirely unreadable, and… somehow the most attractive person Dean had seen all night.

“And then?” Cas asked.

At some point while Dean was gone Cas had loosened his tie. The uptight choir boy looked a little more rugged, a little more ragged, tired but more alert and interested than anyone else Dean talked to. It was as if, even with his hobby of observation, Cas only truly gave his full attention to Dean.

“I pussied out.” Dean said, swallowing the thick lump that formed in his throat.

He didn’t mention the part when he very well could have brought her back to the Impala. They didn’t even have to get to the motel; the deed could be done right there in the car, the same way it had been done so many times before, and this ache would be gone. He didn’t mention that this time he looked Cas’s way, saw him pressed up against the wall, and felt nothing more than an intense desire to self-destruct and ruin any chance he had with this girl. For what?

Cas hummed out a noise of affirmation. “I see,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Dean shot back. Better not show weakness. Better not show the doubt that was creeping into his mind like a weed.

Dean remained against the wall for a few moments more. His entire body faced Cas, and his entire attention focused only on Cas. This guy was the closest he had gotten to anyone tonight, and by far the most social success he had all night. This guy standing at the corner of the party, seemingly unmoving, had been the highlight of his interactions.

What the fuck?

“Why aren’t you out there?” Dean asked.

“Out where?”

“In the party. With the people.” Dean said.

“I am in the party with the people.” Cas said, as if it was obvious. “I’m here with you.”

Dean’s head tilted. “Well, yes, but,” he started, refocused his eyes, and then continued. “I mean, why aren’t you out there? Dancing. Hooking up with some girl. Something.”

Cas’s expression shifted the most it had the entire night. Dean caught a quick flash of pain that felt intimately familiar before Cas returned to his usual hardened stare.

Cas took a drink from his cup for the first time. Maybe he had been drinking all night, but, almost as if planned, Dean never saw him drink even once. Until now. Was he even drunk? Why was he at this party?

“I’m not good at that.”

“What? Dancing?” A smirk crossed Dean’s features; the weirdo had a weak point. “Nobody is. They just do it because it’s fun and it gives you an excuse to touch someone.” His ‘s’ sounds had become a bit softer than they should be.

“No.” Cas paused. “Yes.” Another pause, and then a sigh. “Dancing. Hooking up with… people.”

Whoa. Dean found himself unable to do anything other than watch, lips parted, as a sudden and unexpected crack in that stony exterior presented itself. A level of vulnerability that he didn’t expect, but still found his heart reaching out for. And a dance around a certain word, a certain gender, that didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh,” Dean said, and then followed up with another, longer, “Oooh.”

The heat in the room, even with fewer people, became nearly unbearable. Dean didn’t know how Cas remained so dressed up, even with his tie undone, even with bits of his chest hair peeking up beneath that unbuttoned collar. The music had slowed; instead of quick, loud, poppy dance music, what played now was intense, deeper, rougher, something that left the remaining dancers in a daze of desire.

“Hey,” Dean said. Was he shaking? He felt like he was shaking. “Have you seen my brother?”

Seemingly taken back by the question, Cas turned a furrowed gaze out over the party and then back to Dean. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know your brother.”

“Big. Tall. Long hair. Brick wall.”

“I… don’t think so.”

Cas was probably right. Sammy was probably gone, had probably left with his girlfriend a long time ago. Maybe he passed by while Cas stood on the outskirts and Dean struck out for the fifth time, maybe he was already in his dorm wondering where in the world his brother had gone to. And maybe he wasn’t around for the idea that drained Dean’s mouth of moisture, that made it hard for his tongue to form words.

“Good.” He swallowed. “C’mon.”

Dean grabbed Cas by the wrist and drug him away from the wall. Surprisingly, Cas somehow didn’t quite literally peel away from the wall; Dean had begun to wonder if he was quite literally stuck to it. He distracted himself with the mental image of prying him away with a spatula like he was a grilled cheese sandwich stuck to the pan; he needed any mental image ridiculous enough to take him away from the reality of what he was doing.

And then he was out in the middle of the crowd. Hot, sweaty, oblivious people danced around the two of them, completely unaware that Dean was in the middle of a crisis and doing something he promised himself he’d never do. Completely unaware that Dean was about to dance, on purpose, in public, with a man.

“Dean,” Cas said. His eyes, once so stoic, widened in fear.

Dean shot a grin back and began to move with the music. “C’mon,” he said. “It’s easy. You just go with it.”

Cas remained still. Both arms stuck firmly to his side, both feet planted on the ground as if held down by magnets.

“Dean, I can’t.”

“C’mon, Cas, here,” he said, and reached out to grab both of Cas’s arms. He hefted them up, pulled them out in vague semblance of a person dancing, and began to twist and pull in a most dweeby fashion. Cas was very warm beneath that white button-up shirt.

“Dean,” Cas said again, nearly _threatened_ , but beneath that fear lie something more. Something shone through the crack that broke open earlier.

“Keep goin’, keep goin’,” he said, biting his lower lip, beaming wider than he had all night.

Something shifted in Cas. The stiff exterior softened, the resistance to Dean’s movements weakened, and he began to dance.

And he was god awful at it.

But the two danced together, Dean pulling and prodding at Cas to move in different ways, Cas barely managing to move in time to every third beat even with help. Dancing. A laugh escaped from Dean, an expression of joy that he hadn’t felt all night, and Cas smiled, actually smiled, even with his stiff movement, even with his obvious discomfort.

“That’s it!” Dean said. He kept his hands on Cas’s arms for a few moments more, and then, with some degree of reluctance, pulled back and allowed Cas to go on his own. Cas seemed to merely mimic what Dean was doing, but it was enough. They moved in time, (mostly in time,) felt nothing but the music and saw nothing but each other.

The space between them closed over time, until they reached a song where their bodies nearly touched. Closer and closer, brushing up against each other, skin briefly touching skin, clothes far too covering, far too in the way. Dean looked up, caught Cas’s eyes, and felt one singular, powerful, all-encompassing thought.

_Kiss him._

He took a step forward, body shaking. Thoughts raced through his mind, most of them _stop_ , most of them _what the fuck are you doing_ , but the few that urged him on were stronger, the few that he repressed for so much of his life pushed him forward until he was just inches away from Cas, looking at him, _staring_ at him, gazing deep into those eyes that had served as so much of a focal point for their interaction this night, and he leaned in closer, closer, far more close than he ever allowed himself to get to a man, and…

A hand pressed against Dean’s chest.

“Dean,” Cas said. Both his eyes widened; the carefree expression he wore for just this brief moment of time slipped into something else. Something like rejection.

Happiness drained out of Dean’s body. Another rejection, and this one stung so much more. This rejection bore the weight of losing something he never had, of losing something he never _allowed_ himself to have, and just in the one moment that he might obtain what he wanted the most… it was gone.

“Oh,” Dean said. His voice dropped into the lowest registers his body could muster. Gravel rolled in the few words he pushed out. “I get it.” A lump swelled in his throat. “Sorry, Cas.”

Though no eyes looked his way, Dean felt as if the gaze of every person in the room, of every person he had ever known, turned on him. Heat rushed through his body, his veins on fire from something entirely other than alcohol: shame. The shame that kept those feelings repressed roared back in a massive wave that threatened to drown him, threatened to sweep him away to a dark place he could never leave, and he had to get out, he had to leave, he had to get back to the Impala where nothing could harm him.

Cold air swept across his face as he pushed his way out of the door. He swiped a hand across his forehead, wiping the sweat that beaded against his brow. In light of his humiliation, the tranquility of the night outside felt almost like an assault. Nothing disturbed the peace save for the muffled thumping of the music behind him, the distant conversation of people walking back to their cars ahead of him, the giggle of a girl holding on to her man’s arm.

That should have been him. He should have left here hours ago with a woman; he should be tangled in the sheets of a room he wouldn’t bother to remember the next day. Never mind that she would leave; never mind that the second their rendezvous ended she’d be gone and he’d be left alone once more, wondering why she didn’t fill the void inside him, wondering why those cheap and easy hook ups never brought him the satisfaction he imagined they should, wondering why it was always Dean Winchester left alone in the motel room at the end of the night.

Why the fuck did he do that? Why did he allow himself to open that door? Did he really think there would be a pleasant outcome? Did he really think that after all of these years of hiding that part of himself, of stomping those desires down, that he could really be afforded even one moment of reprieve?

“Fuck,” he breathed out, boots flattening the dew-coated grass with every step. “Fuck,” he repeated. Visions of Sam finding out about tonight flashed through his mind; surely someone in the party would say something. Hey, Sam, your big bro was putting the moves on that uninvited weird dude in the tie. Hey, Sam, your big brother isn’t a single bit like the man you thought he was.

“Dean.”

Oh, fuck.

Cas came bounding out behind Dean, trench coat – fucking _trench coat?_ What the hell kind of college kid wore a trench coat? – billowing out behind him from the sheer force of his steps. “Dean,” he repeated, face stoic but voice urgent.

Another whispered, “Fuck,” beneath his breath, and Dean reached into his pocket for his keys. The Imapala was _right there_ , the door would slam behind him and he could drive away and leave all of this behind; all he had to do was escape from this guy once and for all.

A hand grasped his shoulder.

Dean swallowed that lump in his throat once more, stepped down onto the asphalt of the parking lot, and turned to face Cas.

“Dean,” Cas repeated, a note of gentleness warming the edges of his words.

“Alright, Cas, I get it,” he said, eyes turned toward the dark silhouette of a tree. “I, I,” he stammered out. How do you explain away leaning in for a kiss? It wasn’t like he could turn around and go, ‘ _ha, just kidding, got you, you should have seen your face_.’ The act in itself was an admission of something, an admission he had never made to anyone before, least of all to himself. “Just forget it. I’m gonna head out.”

“Dean,” Cas said, Adam’s apple shifting with a thick swallow of his own. “No. It’s not… It’s not anything. I just.” For the first time he looked genuinely uncomfortable. Not just standing-against-a-wall-in-a-crowded-party uncomfortable, no. (Somehow he seemed relatively at ease during that one, even though he must have been against that same wall for hours.) This was a discomfort that some part of Dean recognized.

“I haven’t. I mean, I couldn’t.” The words came out in staccato bursts. “I’m not used to being around that many people. I’m not used to parties,” Cas said, arms hanging at his side.

“Not used to parties?” The admission, if it could be called that, came so out of left field that Dean felt almost physically off balance. “Part – what do parties have to do with anything?”

Cas tore his eyes away from Dean and looked at the car, then to Dean’s boots, then all the way back up to Dean’s face. “I pus-,” he started, grimaced, and then continued, “I got nervous. There were too many people. I’m sorry.”

Dean took a long, deep breath, and exhaled it between pursed lips. Some of his nervous energy seemed to depart with his breath, though looking at Cas for too long still stung.

“Sure,” he said, and crossed his arms tight against his chest as he leaned up against the side of the Impala.

“But,” Cas began, and this admission seemed to require a bit of extra strength, “I don’t want you to leave.”

A familiar beat of silence passed between them. Dean shifted his weight from one foot to the other, weighed the keys in his hand, weighed the options of staying here or leaving forever in his mind. “Okay,” he said, and made his way back up to the curb that Cas stood on. Instead of standing next to him, not that he was capable of looking at him anyway, Dean opted to plop himself right down on the curb next to Cas’s legs.

Cas followed in turn and sat down next to Dean. A bit closer than one would normally sit next to stranger. A stranger that tried to kiss you.

Somewhere in the distance someone screamed, but laughter followed and Dean’s hackles lowered. Little light lit the area save for a street lamp some feet away, but, thanks to the shadows, he and Cas were almost entirely hidden from the world around them. Not that the world was doing much; most of the world at this time of night comprised drunk students and horny couples.

Wind blew through the sparse trees around them. The only sound Dean picked up was the rustle of Cas’s trench coat next to him as he shifted in place.

“So,” Dean finally said to break the oppressive silence, desperate to resume any kind of conversation, if only to cover up this raw, tender spot that the night exposed within him. “What brought you to the party, anyway?”

“I was invited,” Cas said.

Dean felt that one would normally continue that statement with something to back it up, but Cas apparently felt differently. Another beat of silence filled the air.

“Well, yes, normally one is invited to parties.” He exhaled a strained laugh through his nose. “And then one normally expounds.” He shot the beginnings of a smirk over to Cas and then bumped his shoulder into his side.

“Oh. Sorry.” The silence threatened to returned, but Cas actually continued. “I was invited by someone in my class. He thought it would be good for me to experience a real college party. I had never been to one before.”

“I’m shocked,” Dean said.

“Yes,” Castiel continued. “So, I came here, but couldn’t find him. So, I waited. And then I found you.”

“You found me, huh?”

“Yes.” Castiel’s eyes shot over to Dean and then shot back away a split-second later. “What brought you here?”

Dean let loose with a long, built-up sigh, and stretched his legs out to their full length. “Little brother invited me. He goes to this school, I don’t, but he thought it would be something fun for me to do. Wanted me to meet his friends, or something like that, but I had, uh, other ideas.” He shot another grin toward Cas, with the tiniest hint of self-reflective embarrassment. “He disappeared at some point, though, no idea where he went.”

Dean caught a glimpse of Cas in the shadows of the night. Out here his angles were sharper; the shadows cut across every corner of his jaw. His hands rest square in his lap, folded together as if holding onto himself for dear life.

“So, you go here, huh?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

Real conversationalist, Cas was.

“What do you study?”

A bit of weight seemed to add itself to Cas’s shoulders.

“Business Administration.”

“Oh,” Dean said, feeling as if he struck some sort of nerve. “Do you enjoy it?” That question might just add fuel to fire. Whoops.

“Uh,” Cas started, eyes unfocused. “Well, you know,” he started, shoulders going a bit straighter. “Honestly, my dad kind of pushed me into it.” Though his expression remained as unreadable as ever, a bit of courage seemed to seep into his features. “It’s okay, though. But I probably wouldn’t have chosen it on my own.”

Dean let out another long sigh through pursed lips that ballooned his cheeks out. Well, that was apparently the subject to get Cas to open up. Surprising. “I feel ya, buddy,” he said. If ‘daddy choosing your fate’ could have been a degree on its own, Dean probably would be the world’s eminent expert in the field.

“Sorry,” Cas said. “I think I had a bit more to drink than I remembered. Didn’t mean to unload.”

Dean snorted out a laugh, which Cas responded to with a jerky start. “Oh, sorry,” Dean said. “I just didn’t see you drink much at all. I didn’t even know that you did. Kinda thought you might be too pure for that.” He bumped his shoulder into Cas’s in an attempt to make the joke a bit more obvious. “Anyway, you’re more than fine. Would you have chosen something else?”

A quick, muttered, ‘ _hmm_ ,’ followed Dean’s question. “I don’t know,” Cas said. “This was kind of all of his plan from the start. Get a degree, follow in his footsteps, take over the business one day. Something like that. I don’t know if I’ve ever had the option to choose something else.”

Cas turned to Dean, wide-eyed, shocked by his own admission, and saw Dean offering a commiserating smile back.

“It’s rough,” Dean said, gravel in his voice, “When your dad thinks he can mold you in his own image.” Or your mom’s image; an image that could fill the gap that had been left so long ago and unite the family in a perfect, precise, utterly impossible to achieve way. Take over the family business, raise your little brother, grow into Daddy’s perfect little succession line.

“Yeah,” Cas said, voice low. “Yeah.”

Dean felt a surprising amount of fondness for this guy. It must have been growing all night, but this moment really solidified it. Similar daddy issues: the real way to prove compatibility. He cleared his throat and wrapped an arm around Cas, intending for the gesture to last just long enough to give his shoulders a quick squeeze, but finding that Cas felt _good_ in his arms. “You’ll make it through, though,” he said. “I can already tell you’ll make it through just fine.” Dean removed his arm from around Cas with some reluctance.

“Thanks,” Cas said with a soft exhaled laugh.

“You have much longer to go with all of this business stuff? School-wise, I mean,” Dean said.

“This is my last year, actually. Which is why I was actually willing to come to this.” Was that a smile as Cas stared down into his own lap? “I thought I should at least go to one before this was all done.”

“Well, Cas,” Dean said. He followed up the earlier hug by reaching out and giving Cas’s knee a quick grab. “I’m glad you did.”

Cas looked down at Dean’s hand as it left, then at his knee, and then back over to Dean. The muscles in his jaw clenched.

“Dean,” he said, voice so low that Dean nearly missed it.

“Yes?”

“Were you going to kiss me?” He asked.

The bottom fell out of Dean’s stomach. Run. Get out of here. The car’s right there, hop in and leave. Nobody has to know that any of this happened, nobody will ever believe this guy with those big ol’ eyes, and all of this can be forgotten about before Sam graduates.

Barely enough alcohol still ran through his system, still gave him just enough of a blurred edge to push past his usual walls.

“… I think so,” Dean said.

“Oh,” Cas said.

Crickets filled the night air.

“I stopped you because I’ve never…” Cas started, lost his nerve, and then fell into silence.

Both men looked straight ahead, neither daring to look at anything other than the darkness surrounding them.

The Impala stood to Dean’s left, his escape hatch just in reach.

“I’ve only,” Dean started, voice hoarse. The night so silent, the quiet so oppressive; he felt as if even the grass listened to the words he so rarely had been able to say. “Only, uh, a couple of times. With, um…” Guys. Men. Members of the same sex. A few candid trysts in the past, immediately hushed up and never spoken of again. If they ever got out, if _this_ ever got out, his dad would never speak to him again, he was sure of it. He’d be disowned, kicked out of the family forever, an eternal stain on the Winchester legacy. Whatever was left of it.

But Cas was here. This guy, this strange and yet remarkable man who he had known for so short of a time and yet already felt so many of his defenses lowering around. Cas was here right now, Cas could be his, probably, if he just reached out and asked for it.

Dean moved in a little closer, his shoulder now pressing into Cas’s. He still had just enough courage, just enough desire, to make the move he so desperately wanted to make earlier. It was now or never, and if he waited any longer he would finally come to his senses and choose _never_.

Cas turned to him, streetlights glimmering in his eyes. The space between them closed, the space around them disappeared, and Dean’s world view narrowed to just one man. He waited for the rejection, he waited for the disgust to express on Cas’s face the same way it expressed itself deep in his mind every day, but it never came. Instead, Cas’s lips parted, his breath hitched, and he shifted his body ever so slightly toward Dean.

Dean took a deep breath, leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to Cas’s.

The first kiss was soft, quick, and so immediately different from a woman. Cas’s features were sharp, defined, angular, and hard in all the places that a woman was soft. They pulled apart from each other, overheating even in the cold, and Dean cracked a smile that hid both the terror and the growing desire inside of him.

This time Cas made the move. He leaned back in, and Dean was more than happy to meet him mid-way. Their lips pressed together experimentally at first, with caution and hesitation, but they soon grew into each other’s patterns, pulling together and breaking apart, hands moving forward to touch whatever they landed on first. All Dean wanted was to touch Cas, to feel his skin beneath his, to give himself the thing he had been denying for so long. And Cas seemed willing, seemed _more_ than willing.

Once more they pulled apart. Dean couldn’t see Cas in the dim light, but he could feel his ragged breathing, felt the hand on his side. Had that been Cas’s first kiss? He didn’t know, but the thought alone sent electricity through his veins. Might as well make it a third. He moved back in, met Cas’s lips, and felt that familiar tightness within his jeans that begged for attention.

“Hey,” Dean said as they broke apart, throat going tight. No going back. “You wanna head somewhere else? It’s cold out here. And the, uh,” he glanced back over his shoulder toward the dim lights of the party. “The party’s kind of loud.” He had a jacket and the party was draining of its last few people, but the actual facts of the night mattered little. “I have a motel room.”

Cas remained still. Dean felt pretty sure that he was still alive, judging by the bursts of fog escaping from his lips, but he obviously had a knack for appearing statuesque.

“Okay,” Cas said.

~

Cas sat on the bed of the motel, looking entirely like the most uncomfortable statue ever created. Dean walked up, stood before him, peered down at the man below him, and took a deep breath. He reached down and traced a finger over the edge of Cas’s jaw, then finished by cupping his chin and tilting his head upward. Once more those beautiful blue eyes stared back at him, though no trace of that former iciness remained. Fear reflected back at him, both in Cas’s obvious anxiety and the realization that Cas’s expression must mirror his.

Now or never.

Now.

Dean leaned down, pulled Cas up toward him, and pressed his lips against Cas. Stubble brushed against his skin, rough, prickly, and undeniably masculine. Hunger coursed through him, an aching, clawing hunger, repressed for so long but now finally unleashed.

“Cas,” he breathed out, breaking away for just a moment, their foreheads pressed together. “Are you sure?” He asked.

“Yes,” Cas replied, more breath than sound.

_Fuck._

Their lips crashed together once more, and Dean wrapped his hand around to thread into Cas’s hair, digging deep, holding tight, as if afraid that he may slip through his fingers at any moment. Both knees went to either side of Cas as Dean straddled him, desperate to be as close to him as possible, pulling him into his lips and pressing against him with the rest of his body all in the same moment.

Dean nearly tore his button-up shirt off in the brief moment that their lips parted, and he tossed it to the side to lay undiscovered for at least a few hours more. Next, he pulled Cas’s coat off, tossed it, and ran his hands over the length of Cas’s arms hidden beneath those white sleeves. _Nice arms for a nerd._ But more than enough time had been spent away from Cas’s mouth, so he pushed himself back, lips crushing together, skin against skin, and it wasn’t nearly enough.

Slowly, Dean began to grind himself against Cas’s groin. Fuck, he needed this. Though the jeans dulled his senses, he felt something stirring beneath the fabric of Cas’s trousers and had to suppress a mischievous grin. Something about this guy, this stoic man, statuesque at the party, now responding solely to Dean’s actions… Man, this was a feeling he never got with women.

Ignoring that.

His ass against Cas’s growing erection, Dean pushed Cas down onto the bed, sprawling him out flat on his back. He grabbed that tie and yanked, forcing Cas’s head up, narrowing his world focus to Dean and only Dean.

Not that Cas had been focusing on anything else.

“You ready?” Dean asked.

Cas, face red, eyes wide, could hardly get words out. But a grin, a nervous grin, a fearful grin, but an expression of joy and desire all the same, pulled at the corners of his lips. “Yeah,” he finally said, and Dean felt a powerful throb against his ass.

Dean undid Cas’s tie, unskillfully but quickly enough from sheer brute force, and then began on the buttons. Button by button Cas’s shirt opened up, exposing a flash of skin here, a patch of hair there, until Dean tore it open entirely. His mouth traveled to a nipple, brushing his lips against it, his tongue, then closing his lips around it and giving the slightest suckle. Just enough to bring it to attention, just enough to give Cas a taste of that pleasure. Then he trailed his mouth down, pressing his lips to new patches of skin, patches of skin that had never been touched by another man, until finally he hit reached the barrier of Cas’s belt.

In one swift movement Dean slid off of Castiel and then down onto his knees, perched right at the edge of the bed, right between Castiel’s legs. Dean undid Cas’s belt buckle – a distinctive sound of metal on metal that he’d forever more associate with this moment – and yanked the belt off. “Fuck,” he said, now face-to-face with that growing tent beneath Cas’s trousers. One hand reached out, shaking, actually shaking, and then set itself atop that throbbing bulge.

_Fuck_.

Cas’s cock was hard beneath the fabric, constrained within, aching for release. Its length snaked to the side and Dean’s fingers trailed over it, feeling its size, its power, in his palm. One quick squeeze was enough to send Cas’s head tilting back, chin jutting forward, a soft gasp escaping his lips, and if Dean wasn’t achingly hard and desperate for release already, he may consider drawing it out as long as possible just to watch Cas squirm beneath him.

But the time for teasing had passed; Dean needed Cas _now_.

Both hands wrapped around the waistband of Cas’s trousers. Slowly, Dean began to pull down. Every moment exposed a bit more of Cas’s underwear – and a bit of skin where the fabric caught and pulled down in tandem – and every moment brought Dean a bit closer to his prize. Cas’s clothed cock slowly revealed itself, its outline more apparent and defined beneath those white boxer briefs, and Dean licked his lips in preparation.

The pants pooled at Cas’s ankles. Dean’s hands rest on Cas’s thighs where they rubbed up and down, savoring his skin, savoring the muscle beneath, and his eyes rest only on that cock. Dean’s heart pounded in his chest, threatened to pound right out of his chest, as he stared. His own cock ached beneath his jeans, desperate for attention, desperate to be touched in the same way he was about to touch Cas, but he dared not to touch himself; he might not last very long.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, hands trailing up Cas’s thighs, fingertips slipping right underneath the bands of the briefs that hugged tight to Cas’s thigh. Dean allowed himself to travel up a little more, to probe at that hidden and undiscovered skin, to feel the warmth beneath Cas’s clothing and the desperate need that came with it. He leaned forward, face approaching Cas’s manhood, nearly in awe, and hovered directly over that bulge.

This felt like the point of no return. Never mind the fact that he had already kissed him, never mind the fact that Cas was on the bed before him half undressed; it was this moment, his lips hovering over the throbbing bulge of another man, that he truly felt couldn’t be explained away.

These were not the actions of a straight man.

But that wasn’t important right now. The doubt, the guilt, could come later. And it would, Dean knew it would. But Dean knew more than anything that right now, right in this second, he could give himself over. He could give himself over to this man, indulge in the desires that had hounded him for so many years, and for just one second of time he might be able to be happy.

Dean pressed his lips to Cas’s clothed shaft. It felt warm beneath the cloth; warm, firm, and throbbing. He moved upward, the white cloth getting a little bit darker everywhere his lips pressed, until he reached the very tip, which already had a damp spot of pre. _He’s responding this way because of me,_ Dean thought with a perverse sort of pride. Being wanted was the most powerful aphrodisiac there was.

He pressed his tongue against the cloth, tasted the faint saltiness, and then pulled as much of Cas’s head into his mouth as he could. Above him Cas’s breath hitched, his hips jerked, and he brought his hands to cover his face.

_Fuck_.

Cas’s cock fell back down as Dean released it from his mouth, that entire area of his underwear completely soaked. “Alright,” Dean said, flashing a grin that felt more like baring his teeth than anything else. Cas was his.

Fingertips hooked underneath the waistband and slowly pulled down. Dean kept himself from shaking as he drunk in the sight of every bit of exposed flesh, the completion of this beautiful picture before him, the thing that he wanted more than anything, until, finally, Cas’s cock sprung free, slapping against his stomach, entirely exposed.

“Fuck,” Dean breathed out. He brought his hand back up and hovered it over the length. The heat radiated up, warming him from even a distance. Every so often it gave another powerful throb, desperate to be touched.

Dean curled his fingers around the shaft. His own cock gave yet another powerful, pained, throb, and his teeth scraped against his bottom lip. Up and down he trailed his palm, savoring the flesh against his own, taking in the feeling that was so familiar and yet so alien. The feeling of his own cock in his hand was something he was, well, more than familiar with, but to feel another man in his hand… it was power, it was control, and he relished in the extent of the power that he held over Cas.

Cas groaned out once more, hands balled into fists over his eyes, his chest rising and falling in staccato bursts. Dean watched with something approaching wonder at the way Cas’s body responded to his every stroke, the way his muscles twitched and clenched and released, and took a great deal of pleasure in the nearly pained expression that twisted Cas’s features. There was another quick, startled groan as Dean reached his hand up, cupping Cas’s balls in his other hand, grasping and rolling them in his palm, applying just enough pressure without crossing into pain territory.

Dean licked his lips. He angled Cas’s cock toward his mouth, leaned forward on his legs, and held the head right before his lips. Steamy breath flowed across the tip, and for a moment Dean feared that he might lose his nerve. But the desire overpowered any fear, and his lips parted, and he slowly took that manhood into his mouth.

His lips closed around the shaft, wrapping Cas in a warm, soft embrace. Dean closed his eyes and drug his tongue along the underside, savoring every inch of flesh that sunk deeper inside his mouth. Deeper it went, his lips trailing along the length, until finally he reached the base and Cas fully hilted inside of his mouth.

Cas arched his back of off the bed, fists finally leaving his eyes and instead digging into the covers on either side of him. “Dean,” he groaned out, the single syllable long and elongated as it flowed through his lips. This was encouragement enough for Dean, who pushed himself just a little further, just enough for the tip of Cas’s cock to push down his throat. It took all of his power to avoid gagging, but the payoff of Cas’s breath hitching, his thighs flexing and his fingertips going white, was more than worth the struggle.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Cas said, words choked. Dean drew back just enough for only the head to remain in his mouth and turned his eyes up toward Cas, eyebrows cocked by way of questioning. “I’m going to,” Cas started, nearly panting. “Just, uh, wait.” He flashed an embarrassed smile and then looked away.

Dean pulled his lips right over that glistening glans and gave the tip a single lip. His hand began to move up and down in slow strokes, lubricated by his own saliva. “Close, huh?” He asked, grin wide. The sight of this choir boy right on the edge of ecstasy was nearly too much to bear; a dark spot had formed at the tip of his own length, still trapped beneath his jeans.

“Yes,” Cas said, turning his gaze back on Dean. God, what it must look like: Dean Winchester, cock in hand, straight back up at him… well, maybe not so straight, but that was, once again, a question for another time. Dean continued to stroke as he looked up, ignoring the panic in Cas’s eyes. “Dean,” Cas started, “I’m,” he continued, but it seemed as if his mouth didn’t want to work.

“I know,” Dean said, wicked grin wide. Then he brought Cas’s cock right back in his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he drew it in as deep as he could go. Up and down, in and out, Dean nearly assaulted Cas’s groin with his mouth. His free hand resumed its playing with Cas’s balls, tugging and squeezing those orbs in time with his head bobs.

His tongue ran along the entire length, swirled around the tip when he reached the highest point, and he closed a fist around the base of Cas’s shaft to stroke that slick shaft as he moved up and down. Cas drew in a sharp intake of air through his teeth, and Dean immediately stopped.

Couldn’t bring him over the edge just yet. Couldn’t have his first blowjob be finished quite so soon.

The button on Dean’s jeans nearly exploded with the force that he finally undid his own pants. The zipper went down, the pants went to his knees, and when he pushed his own underwear down his cock sprang out like a beast unchained. Wrapping his hand around his own cock felt like heaven; he finally felt _something_ , he could finally bring himself closer to the same edge that Cas so precipitously dangled over.

Cas’s cock throbbed in his hand, eager for more attention. And Dean obliged; he put his mouth over the head once more, flicked his tongue over the slit, and swirled it around the entire edge in slow, teasing laps. Cas’s hips pressed upward, seemingly desperate to sink his length inside Dean’s mouth completely, but Dean edged him on, refusing to allow him that final release just yet.

“Tell me you want it,” Dean said after he released Cas’s cock from his lips. “Tell me you want to cum.” He capped the sentence off by drawing his tongue up from base to tip in one long motion, as if licking an ice cream cone.

“I…” Cas began, then closed his eyes and dropped his head backward. Dean watched him swallow, watched his throat constrict with nerves and desire. “Please, Dean,” Cas said toward the ceiling.

“Look at me when you say it,” he said, hand moving up and down against the saliva-slickened length of Cas’s manhood.

Cas propped himself up on his arms and peered down at Dean. “Please,” he said, face red, jaw tense, lips parted. “Please let me…” Another tense swallow, as if struggling to get his own mouth to form around the word.

What a choir boy.

Dean couldn’t be happier.

“Please let me cum, Cas finally said, and the words seemed unfamiliar in his mouth.

“You got it,” Dean said, shooting Cas his cockiest grin and a wink.

Dean returned to Cas’s cock and enveloped it in his mouth. Once more, he grabbed the very base of his shaft, wrapped his fist around it, and began to stroke as he moved up and down on the length. Cas immediately responded; his body betrayed his lust and his desire, his desperation for release, as it tensed and bucked up into Dean.

This time Dean was more than happy to oblige.

He stroked himself along with Cas, right in time to his hand and mouth moving on Cas’s cock. Sudden bursts of saltiness coated his tongue as the warning shots of precum dappled his tongue, which Dean eagerly lapped up. Another groan came from Cas, though this one was urgent, this one was something more than pleasure; Cas was close.

Dean picked up the pace. A wet, squelching sound echoed throughout the room as Dean worked, bobbing on Cas’s cock, jerking his own with lube provided by his own leaking precum. Cas’s fingers dug into the bed, his knuckles went white, his eyes clenched closed, and Dean pushed him right over that edge.

Cas’s moan caught in his throat. It choked out mid-way, and Cas’s body arched upward from the hips as he reached climax. Dean brought his cock all the way in his mouth, taking him in as deep as he possibly could, relishing in the throbs and contractions. A bitter saltiness flooded his mouth and he eagerly swallowed every drop, took the very essence of this man inside of him, felt it coat his throat and fill his senses. His own hand reached a feverish pace as he brought himself over the edge, and the waves of pleasure that overtook him nearly knocked him out.

He kept Cas’s cock inside his mouth the entire time that he released, spilling his seed over his hand, on the floor, on his own jeans, but cared little about anything other than the shockwaves shooting through him. It was as if electricity ran through his veins for the few seconds that stretched into an eternity. Every sense heightened, every brush against his skin nearly painful.

Cas could do little other than lie there, actually shaking a little bit, still surprisingly hard in Dean’s mouth even as the last drops of cum dribbled out of him. His breath came out in gasps.

Finally, Dean allowed Cas’s cock to flop out of his mouth. With one last swallow, he grinned up at Cas, though Cas was too knocked out to actually notice anything other than the waves of pleasure wrecking his body. Dean exhaled a quick laugh through his nose, licked his lips, and stood up.

Before him rest Cas, lost to pleasure, sprawled out on the bed, a private view just for him. And Dean thought he was beautiful.

~

The guilt came later. As he showered, unbidden images of Sam finding out, of his father finding out, ran through his head. Of course they would find out; he wouldn’t be able to keep this hidden forever. The occasional indulgence would eventually lead to discovery – maybe already had, given that he had been dancing with a man in public. That pit opened back up in his stomach, and he didn’t know if he’d have the courage to leave the bathroom, to see Cas, to face the world outside of this motel room.

Dean brushed his teeth, the last thing to remove all evidence of his activities, and then left the bathroom wearing nothing but his shirt and underwear. His jeans were a bit too stained to be comfortably worn at the moment, too big of a reminder of his mistake.

Cas lie in the bed, his back up against the headboard. And he smiled.

Something unknotted ever so slightly in Dean’s stomach.

“Hey,” Cas said.

“Hey,” Dean replied.

With some hesitation, as if unsure that this was something that regular people did, Cas pat a spot on the bed next to him. Dean looked to the spot, and then back at Cas. He was still happy to see Dean. Unlike Dean in the past, he hadn’t taken the first opportunity to bolt out of the room. He probably wouldn’t block every detail of this encounter from memory until the next time his defenses lowered too much.

Cas was still here.

Dean took the spot next to Cas. He sat next to him, side by side, the warmth of his shower still radiating off him, and the warmth of Cas’s body pressing into his shoulder. No words were exchanged, nothing said about the act they both participated in. Instead, Dean allowed his head to fall down, allowed himself to scoot his body down, until his head rested on Cas’s shoulder. Cas, in turn, wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in, holding him close, resting his own head atop Dean’s.

The guilt would come later. The shame could come later. But now, in this moment, he was warm. He was comfortable, he was safe.

Cas was still here.


End file.
